


Raw

by Jane St Clair (3jane)



Category: The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-08
Updated: 2011-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:47:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3jane/pseuds/Jane%20St%20Clair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trauma.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raw

Dallas comes in with horse-smell still all over him, and Johnny's  
there, curled up on his current borrowed bed, with his clothes on.    
Dark, slick boy wrapped into the smallest ball he can get into.  Just  
barely asleep.  He keeps making a noise that can't ever quite manage to  
be a growl.

Dark hair spreads over the blanket.  Something he can touch before he  
goes to take a shower.

Comes back with just his jeans on and Johnny's deeper asleep.  He's  
purple across one side of his face, and his eye's nearly swollen shut.    
Somebody hit him, then.  As easy as he's sleeping, it was probably only  
his dad.  But.

It's hot.  Most of the day he couldn't do much of anything.  Hunch  
around in the shade.  Drink.  He walked most of the way around town,  
found the gang he seems to be part of these days, showed his teeth to  
glossy little bits of skirts showing their tits off to Soda Curtis.    
Almost night before he could take any of the horses out.  Long training  
runs with the two- and three-year-olds, out there in his jeans and  
boots on the racing saddle.  Couldn't even sit down.  Just balance over  
the horses' necks and crouch and hope he didn't cave his fucking head  
in.

Brought the last one in at something like ten.  Dead dark out.  Fucking  
animal jumped straight sideways one time too many.  Angry and  
frustrated enough that he felt like beating the shit out of it, had to  
hand it off to one of the kids to clean up while he walked the mad off.

Just about jumping out of his skin.

Poured water over his head from the trough by the rail, shook his hair  
out and came back.  Took the colt back and finished grooming it  
himself.  Big bay, stupid as anything but it didn't usually try to kick  
him, at least.

Walked home, after.  Or over to the room he has this week, anyway.    
Place smells like piss and old drunks, assholes out front who keep  
asking him if he wants a blowjob.  Upstairs and through the door and  
there's Johnny, curled up on the bed just like the door wasn't locked.    
Maybe Johnny's managed to learn something actually useful.  Maybe.

He crouches down beside him.  Rubs his fingers through the messy hair.    
"Hey, Johnny.  Wake up."

"Mmm."

"No, come on, wake the hell up.  Tell me what you're doing here."

"Dally."

"Sure.  Who'd you think?"

"I'm sorry."

"Hey, no way.  None of that shit.  What're you doing here?"

"Had a fight with my dad.  He knocked me around some.  Nothing new."

"Fair enough.  Why here instead of Curtis'?"

"I lit out in the wrong direction."

"Johnny."  Hissing it through his teeth.  He gets an arm around the  
back of Johnny's head and pulls the bruised face in hard against his  
shoulder.  Somewhere between a hug and a headlock.

Johnny takes it.  Just leans in and hangs onto his arm enough that he  
won't choke.  Scoots over when Dallas lets go and gets up to sit on the  
bed with him.  And then leans in hard against Dallas' shoulder and  
shakes for a bit.  No crying, even if he's still a kid and he probably  
could.

Not like he's going to tell.

Dallas didn't have a place of his own when they dragged Johnny out of  
the lot and cleaned him up.  Had to take him back to Curtises' house,  
where they all stood around like a pack of useless bastards until  
Dallas wrapped an arm around Johnny's waist and dragged him into the  
bathroom.

It isn't something they talk about.  Not the bruises or the massive cut  
that Dallas ended up having to tape shut because none of the Curtises  
fuck themselves up enough to need to keep sutures in the bathroom.  Not  
the blood on the back of Johnny's legs or the shower that looked way  
too much like something from prison, or the half-hour Johnny spent,  
mostly clean and naked and hunched up, keening to himself on the  
bathroom floor while Dallas sat on the closed toilet and didn't say  
anything at all.

Even Steve Randal, terminal shit with his head up his ass, doesn't talk  
about Dallas sleeping on the floor while Johnny slept on the couch.  He  
thinks Randal was probably sacked out in the back bedroom pretending he  
isn't hard for Soda Curtis' ass.

Everybody's hard for Soda Curtis.  Biological fact of the east side,  
and most of the rest of the city, and someday the whole goddamn world  
when they all the pretty boy off to be in movies.

Since then, though, it's gotten to be a bit more normal for Johnny to  
let Dallas touch him.  He's the one who got to check Johnny's ribs,  
clean up the cuts every couple of days.  A week into it, when Johnny  
was running a fever, he took all the cash he had from the last month of  
riding and took the little fuck to Emergency.  Sat outside and smoked  
for three solid hours until they gave Johnny the pills he needed and  
sent him home.

He remembers the look the doctor gave him when he brought Johnny in.    
Like maybe Dallas was the one who'd done it.

Maybe one of the only things he hasn't done, but he knows Johnny knows  
that.  He hasn't ever. But he gets it on some pretty basic level that  
Johnny accepts.

Enough that Johnny lets Dallas peel his t-shirt off, now.  There are  
new bruises over the healed ribs and one on his shoulder to go with the  
black eye.  He leans forward and drops his forehead against Dallas'  
shoulder while Dallas rubs his hands along Johnny's back, feeling for  
the hot spots that bad bruises leave.

Rocks him back and forth for a while.  Something about Johnny that for  
the rest of his life he's going to be everybody's baby.  Like he isn't  
ever going to grow up, or be able to take care of himself.  All that  
greasy dark hair against Dallas' cheek.  Slick against his mouth when  
he kisses it.

Just the once before he pushes Johnny out into a face-down stretch on  
the bed and starts rubbing his back.  He knows a couple of things about  
moving the blood so that bruises don't last, and maybe he can make  
Johnny relax a bit.  Breathe deeper, maybe even sleep.

Skinny body between his thighs, tense no matter what he does.  Even  
after Dallas gets off and sits beside him and rubs leaning over  
instead.  Til finally he gives up and flops down between Johnny and the  
wall and just stares at him.

"What's the matter, kid?"

Johnny doesn't say anything, but Dallas isn't sure he expected him to.    
The number of things Johnny's said to him's pretty amazing, but it's  
all short words and it all got dragged out of him.

So he just lies quiet and lets Johnny snuggle in against him.  Still  
for a long time, listening to traffic a long way off and some party a  
block or two away, and guys swearing downstairs.  Listening to Johnny  
breathe.

He's not ready for it when Johnny kisses his neck.  This little open-  
mouthed thing like no girl's ever done to him except maybe in her  
sleep.  Lips and tongue rubbing across one of the tendons, leaving a  
wet spot that he can feel even while he pushes Johnny off him.

"Jesus Christ, Johnny, what the fuck was that?!"

Yelling.  Swearing at him.  Calling him everything he can think of,  
trying to get the iron-edge out of his mouth and his heart to calm  
down.  While Johnny crouches on the floor and stares at him out of  
bruised eyes.  He hit him too hard.  Shouldn't have pushed him, no  
matter how much he wanted to hit something.

"I'm sorry."  Blood at the side of his mouth.  He doesn't even  
*remember* hitting Johnny in the face, but he wasn't bleeding before.

Fuck.

"No.  Fuck.  I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have hit you.  I'm sorry, okay?  I  
shouldn't have done that."  Leans back and holds a hand out.  "Want to  
come back?  I'm not gonna do that again."

For a minute he thinks Johnny's going to run.  Shirtless and shoeless,  
even, right outside into the arms of the waiting perverts.  He might  
even get past them, run to somebody else, tell them Dallas hit him, and  
that really will be the end of Dallas Winston.  He wonders if he could  
leave town faster than Darry can come and kill him.

"Okay."  And Johnny comes.  Crawls back onto the bed and lies on the  
edge farthest away from Dallas.  Facing him, arms half-covering his  
chest.

Fuck it's hot.  He's so tired.

"Johnny, what the hell was that?"

"I'm sorry."

"No.  Fuck sorry.  Tell me what that was."

"I just."

"How the *fuck* can you want that?"

Tiny hiss.  Misery.  All of Johnny's dark and bruised and he's shaking  
again.  He probably isn't ever going to stop shaking, even when he's  
old.

He could do this.  He just wants to know why.  He doesn't understand  
this.  Not even when Johnny's hand snakes down and wraps around his and  
just holds it between them.  Both of them shirtless on this wreck of a  
by-the-week bed, him trying to figure out how Johnny Cade could be able  
to kiss him.

And he can't figure it out even when Johnny wiggles closer and does it  
again.  On the mouth this time, soft and wet and careful.  There's this  
flutter across his cheek that makes him realize Johnny's eyes are open,  
and his are closed.

Johnny's eyes are huge.  He wonders if Johnny's ever done anything this  
brave before.

He can't think of any answer to that.  "Fuck, kid."

Johnny's mouth tastes like blood, sweet spit, pepsi-cola.  Sugar at the  
back of him.  And he just about melts when Dallas leans over him and  
kisses him back.  Everything he's ever learned about kissing doesn't  
amount to a whole lot, but as long as he's careful, he doesn't think  
he'll scare Johnny too bad.  He owes him.  Shouldn't have hit him.  

Soft and wet and open under him.  Touching him carefully along his  
shoulders.  Little tongue that keeps rubbing against his whenever he  
thinks about pulling back.

Til he finally just groans and rolls over on his back, pulls Johnny up  
on top of him.  Pulls the messy dark head down and kisses him hard,  
with both hands holding Johnny's mouth against his.

This is something he can just barely remember doing.  When he was  
younger than Johnny is now, in somebody's mom's apartment, when he was  
still in New York.  Hands on his stomach, on his cock, almost a year  
before he was interested in broads at all.  How good it felt.

He thinks he could make this almost that good.  Johnny's not pulling  
away.  He's got his hips down against Dallas', and he's rubbing a bit.    
Not something he's ever seen Johnny do before, not with anybody.  Never  
seen Johnny even hard for anyone, and at his age, he shouldn't be able  
to hide it.

"You want this, kid?"  Question that he can't even open his eyes to  
ask.  Something he can't figure out about himself, that he needs to  
kiss with his eyes closed.  Wet spit between their mouths, Johnny's  
breath on his upper lip.

"Yeah.  Dally, please . . ."

"Shhh."

Easy as he remembers it being.  Just has to get their jeans off.  Kicks  
them off the bed and rolls Johnny under him again.  Face up and big-  
eyed and rubbing Dallas' leg with one of his feet, mouth on his all  
hungry like he can't understand.  Licking him every time Dallas isn't  
kissing his mouth.  Some kind of hungry animal who keeps fighting every  
time Dallas thinks he's dead.

Hard against him.  Slick every time Johnny twists.  And he's so fucking  
*pretty*, naked and bruised like this.  Something seriously sick about  
that, makes him wonder what exactly separates him from the perverts  
outside.  Maybe nothing except a more interesting rap sheet and a naked  
Johnny wrapped around him.  Soft skin against his leg every time Johnny  
rubs, making him think about how good it'd be to get those legs over  
his shoulders and fuck him.  Pull those little deep-chest sounds out of  
him, the ones he makes when he's asleep.  Kiss him with his cock deep  
in that little ass and push his tongue as far as it can go down  
Johnny's throat.

Maybe not tonight, but soon.  Soon he's going to do that.  Going to  
make Johnny howl.  Pretty, soft Johnny who apparently belongs to him.    
Something he didn't realize until just now.

His boy.  Johnny against his stomach, hard and leaking and whimpering  
every time one of them slides.  Little belly button that he wants to  
hook a thumb into and fuck too.  Soft balls in behind that he can just  
reach by sliding a hand between them.  Arm around Johnny's neck to hold  
his head up on the flat pillow, hand around his balls, rolling them and  
squeezing just a bit.  

Doesn't ease up until Johnny pulls his mouth away and gives this gasp  
that sounds about a half-breath away from crying.  Tearing the air into  
his lungs.

Even after he lets go, he still rubs at that too-soft skin behind  
Johnny's balls.  Pushes with his thumb against this one spot that makes  
Johnny actually whine out loud.

"Dally, god, please, do that again, right there."

Easier on their sides.  Takes him a minute to get them both rearranged;  
Johnny's like this clinging rag doll that he has to push into position.    
Arms around his neck, one leg over his hip.  Mouth locked on his and  
still making noise while Johnny twists and rubs against him and back  
against the finger pushing on the little hard place hidden under that  
skin.  Harder in the few seconds that Johnny actually yells, twists,  
and spurts against him.  Sticky and a bit cool on his hip, and sticky  
spit-strands between their mouths.  Can't *wait*.

Just one more scramble to push Johnny's legs together.  Gives him just  
enough of a channel to thrust into.  Hard a half-dozen times, holding  
his boy against him, before he comes too, growling and mauling Johnny's  
shoulder.

Rubs him for a long time afterwards.  It's almost too hot to be  
sleeping this close, and the room's pretty close to airless.  Enough  
that eventually he gets up and pries the old casement open. Scratches  
his nails against the screen just to feel his hair stand up at the  
sound.

Turns around and Johnny's curled up again, watching him.  Naked and  
hiding behind his knees.  He looks worse.  Bitten and marked on top of  
the bruises and the big, still-new scar on his face.  Blood slick at  
the corner of his mouth.  It's there in Dallas' mouth, too.

"You going to let me rub your back now?"

Minute while Johnny just stares at him. Before he nods and rolls down  
onto his stomach.  His fingers tangle in the edge of the old blanket.    
Naked and breathing deep, like he's determined to relax.  Still for a  
minute under Dallas' touch, then just slides under it and lets him work  
the worst muscle knots loose.

He stiffens again when Dallas touches his ass.  Breathes deep and tries  
to let it out.  Lies quiet while hands work over the little swell of  
him, catches his breath just the smallest bit when Dallas spreads him  
and looks.  Little hole there that he knows only stopped being sore a  
couple of weeks ago.  Brushes it with the tip of a finger before  
working down Johnny's legs.

These bony ankles, long feet that turn out just a bit too much for him  
to be any kind of a runner.  He kisses one of them, then crawls back up  
and lays himself in beside Johnny.  Leg just the smallest bit over  
Johnny's thigh, and his mouth touching the black hair.

He wishes, maybe, that Johnny would stop trusting him.  He wasn't going  
to do this, ever again.  Remembers, a bit, how hard it is to fuck  
somebody who can touch you back.  Johnny who's the smallest, rawest  
member of their pack.  He should know better.

He keeps licking him all the rest of the night, trying to see if the  
blood-taste is fading.


End file.
